To Tell or Not To Tell?

That was the question I'd been pondering in the run up to the summer term starting today. Two and a half weeks ago the spring term ended and that very night I got my BFP. Two and a half weeks on, I still didn't know whether to tell anyone yet or not.

I have done it both ways. I have shared my joy with the colleagues I consider good friends and then had to give them bad news later on. I have also kept quiet, not had a chance to share my happiness and not known what to say when asked why I've not been myself. Initially I thought that I should at least wait until after Friday, but I felt like I needed some prayers and hope on my side before the scan so I told three of my closest friends. I am very glad that I did. Their reactions helped to put aside some of the negativity that's been hanging over me since my doctor's appointment two weeks ago. It just gave me a boost to see happy smiles instead of sympathetic ones.

There were good points and bad points to being back at work today. On the plus side, I really do love my job and the people I work with. It was great to see them again and to catch up with their news. On the down side, I missed my family so much. I had been used to waking up and greeting my girls, taking them for walks, enjoying my time with them and just having the chance to spend some time with them where every second of the day isn't planned out to the last second to fit everything in.

The greeting when I walk through the door is always worth it though. I love the big hugs and cuddles and all the excitement, or the smiles when they wake if it's nap time. Angelica has recently outgrown her nap so I got home just in time to play some silly games, making faces in the mirror, turning her toy duck into a superhero and - her current favourite - the 'What noise does *something* make?' game. She loves to play that both ways round - either making the noise or humiliating us by getting us to make the noise.

It started as a simple game, along the lines of "What noise does a cat make? or "What noise does a car make?" Now it's somewhat more elaborate with dumb combinations like "What noise does a pigeon at a football match make?" (The answer to that is 'Cooooo! Cooooo! GOOOOOAAAAAL!') It's all very silly and great fun - for us, let alone Angelica!

I did enjoy being back at work today, but I am very glad I am home to spend a fun evening with two very silly girls who always make me laugh.

Nothing Exists Beyond Friday Lunchtime

I am not very good with waiting. I am also a worrier. That combination doesn't go well together. I can wait patiently for many things in honesty; I can wait for Christmas or a special birthday, I can wait for the next concert at work or for payday to get something I've had my eye on a while. But there are certain things where the wait drives me pretty crazy.

I am not doing well waiting for my scan next week. With every day that passes I'm feeling more wound up and increasingly worried. Now I am remembering why I have refused early scans in the past, despite my history. Of course, it fits that the time I want one the GP did everything she could to stop me getting one.

I've been trying not to talk about this too much, but then when I bottle up it it comes out in angsyt bursts, and usually to the wrong person or at the wrong time, or over something completely different. So I am going to try to get this all out here and then maybe I will be able to get to Friday without it exploding again.

I don't feel pregnant. I look at my cheapies every night and see the line nice and dark, and then I think, if I'm getting such dark lines why don't I feel pregnant? I had a craving for tomatoes for about a day and I've maybe woken up to pee in the night once, but that's about all.

I have heard all the cliches, I've even tried telling them to myself. I know every pregnancy is different but I also know that with my girls the pregnancy was stronger from the word go. Both times before I even got my BFP I knew I was pregnant and instantly I was bombarded with symptoms. Most women get the first trimester exhaustion but because I already suffer from Chronic Fatigue Syndrome I was hit hard. There would be times I'd call in sick to work because I couldn't get out of bed. And there was the hunger - my appetite increased by about 200%. I'd be eating so much more than normal because every morsel of food and every speck of energy was going to support the tiny but strong baby that managed to stick.

I've never had that feeling when I've had a loss. Even last year when I carried my baby to 11w6d I never had the strong onset of symptoms. I had some queasiness at first and some exhaustion but I had just gone back to work after the summer holidays so that could have influenced it.

When I look back, the thing I find hardest is that I gave myself the luxury of positivity. Even though I'd had an early loss back in May once I'd seen the tests get darker I believed that everything was going to be OK. Even though I didn't have the exhaustion and huge appetite or any of the things that had set the pregnancies with my girls apart I believed that I was going to be bringing a baby home in May this year. I committed to being positive. I even looked at maternity clothes and baby clothes. I looked at cribs and planned when I would be taking maternity leave. I thought if I kept up my optimism then it would help somehow. I think it was because I kept hopeful that losing Daisy hit me harder than before.

So now I find myself anxious, pessimistic and cold. I can't get attached and I can't relax. I can't think about anything beyond next Friday. It's like anything beyond 1.13PM next Friday doesn't exist. The universe will cease to exist. That's if the cloud of volcanic ash that's already covering the UK doesn't do us all in first.

I can see three possible outcomes for next Friday. The first would be the best case scenario; that I will go in and they'll scan me and a little flickering heartbeat will make my spirits soar. The second will be that there's no baby; an empty sac, no heartbeat and no hope. The third scares me more than the second - it's the thought of inconclusive news. Maybe there will be a baby but no heartbeat. Maybe the baby will be measuring too small, even though I know my dates. Maybe there'll be an emergency and they will turn me away. The thought of not having a definite answer scares me more than anything.

I know that worrying about it won't change anything and that it's not good for the baby, but if you are a worrier you can't change that just because others tell you that you should. It's not like I don't already know that stressing isn't good for me or the pregnancy but until someone invents a time machine to bypass the next 6 days there's nothing I can do about it.

I don't want to be negative. I want to spend this pregnancy enjoying every second, taking belly pics and joining in on my DDC, sharing the news with friends and planning to bringing a baby home in time for Christmas. But until next Friday I'm going to remain under the radar and quietly panicking.

Ten Whole Years

Wednesday marked the day my DH and I celebrate as our anniversary. It's not our wedding anniversary - that's in July - but 14th April 2000 was the day we told each other how we felt. It seems almost unbelievable that a decade has passed. We had a very special evening on our anniversary night, watching back video clips from the last few years and reliving many adventures we've had along the way.

We have a very unusual relationship and by rights we probably shouldn't have even met since we lived at opposite ends of the country. We most probably shouldn't still be together when I think of all the obstacles in our path. For one thing, there's the fact that I'm gay. It's a topic I would have had to mention sooner or later. My husband is actually the one who helped me to come to terms with my sexuality as I was so far into the closet that I probably had about twenty coats hiding it from view. I can't pretend we've never had any negative comments because some people have been unpleasant in the past, but we are happy and confident in our relationship and that is what matters. I think some people are just supposed to be together no matter who they are. we'd probably have fallen in love if he'd been an elephant and I'd been an ant, although the size difference would have made reproduction impossible.

Then there was the distance. Living through five years of a long distance relationship was not easy and I shed many tears over every goodbye. I shudder to think how much we spent on train fares or how many hours we spent travelling back and forth. I do have fond memories of the excitement and anticipation building up, buying newspapers to read on the journey and then never looking at them because I was too busy staring out of the window, desperate to get to my destination or cooking carefully-timed pasta to be ready the second he arrived at the door.

There were so many other things that should have stopped us meeting in the first place, but I am forever glad that we did. Over the last few years we've said goodbye to four/five hour train journeys and built a home and family together. We have two very precious girls, three adorable guinea pigs, we even had a ghost at one point. We may never have been the most conventional couple but we are happy and content. The last ten years have sped by because they have been full of smiles and laughter.

Love isn't always easy and relationships can be hard, but it is a risk worth taking. Here's to the next ten years and all the adventures that come our way!

The Odd-Sock Saga

You are unlikely to ever see my girls in a matching pair of socks. This is a fact.

I can't remember the last time I was able to keep one of them in a matching pair. I think there is some kind of strange sock vortex at work here, where one of a pair gets sucked into a black hole within moments of being placed on a wriggling foot. I genuinely have no more logical explanation for it. They just seem to vanish into thin air.

Goodness knows what people think when we go out of the house. There will be Angelica with one pink sock and one blue sock, while Natasha has one striped sock and one dotty one. Strangers must think we are a family of scruffy fools, but they have no idea how challenging it is to live in a household with a sock vortex, removing half the family's socks!

Half of the problem is the follow-my-leader mentality the girls have. When one of them does something, the other one has to copy. So one of them will remove a sock, then the other will remove a sock. One of them will hide their sock down the back of the couch, so the other one follows suit. Before you know it you have two bare-footed children and a whole drawer full of mismatched socks to contend with!

I have tried looking for the missing ones but they have clearly skipped off into a parallel universe. I have dug around between sofa cushions, around the back of furniture, in the toy boxes, you name it, I have looked there. Occasionally a sock will reappear in the most unlikely of places, like behind the toilet or on a shelf, with no apparent way of getting there. At a loss for any other explanation I think I am sticking to my sock vortex theory until proven otherwise.

So next time you see someone out on the street with a toddler wearing mismatched socks or a child who has one stripy foot and one dotty one, spare a thought for their family - they may be living in a sock vortex too!

Condemned before Trial

All pregnancy loss is unspeakably tragic. Whatever the circumstances it is always going to be an event that changes your life. Whether you have lost one pregnancy or suffered recurrent pregnancy loss (RPL) you can never quite get over it, even when it doesn't consume your every waking thought any more. It is still there, bubbling under.

I have tried to start this entry several times but I've found it hard to try to express what I want to say in words.

When you have been through the loss of a pregnancy then the next BFP you see if a bittersweet event and for every ounce of joy there is one of fear too. For those who have suffered repeated miscarriages the balance becomes tipped increasingly toward the side of fear each time. Recently I realised the one big difference between suffering one miscarriage and experiencing RPL. When you have had one loss you worry about it happening again. With RPL, you expect it to.

I have had a pretty rotten week to be honest. The flu has taken its toll and I dare say getting a BFP in the middle of it didn't help because if one thing is guaranteed to lower your immune system it's pregnancy. With a combination of needing some assistance fighting off the flu and needing to register my pregnancy I made an appointment with the local surgery on Tuesday.

I saw a doctor I hadn't seen before and she did little to give me any hope or encouragement. Taking a quick pregnancy history and drawing a morbid little diagram in front of me of where my girls fitted into my losses she refused to give me the hospital referal yet, telling me there was little point if she would have to cancel it again and that if I was "still pregnant in a couple of weeks" to come back for the referral.

Right then I lost all hope and confidence I had left of carrying another pregnancy to term. I have been struggling to believe I'm going to bring a Christmas miracle home with me as it is. After everything that has happened I really don't expect a successful pregnancy. But the phrase the doctor used cut me up like a knife. It was the kind of thing you say about some unpleasant ailment, like to come back in two weeks if your cough hasn't gone yet.

In November I had my most traumatic loss. I was 11w6d and I had actually started to believe I was going to bring home a baby at the end of it. The scan confirming the baby had stopped growing a couple of weeks earlier is one I have replayed time and again since, as though I could somehow change the outcome. In the days and weeks that followed both the hospital and my usual doctor had confirmed a need for an early scan the next time around and early care. The one thing that kept me going was knowing that this time the medical professionals would be on my side.

Tuesday just wiped that out. I ended up going over her head and contacting the hospital directly. They have offered me a scan two weeks from tomorrow. I will be 6w 3d which is earlier than they usually offer, which worries me too in case they can't see anything. I have a whole new 2 week wait ahead of me.

In the meanwhile I see everyone mentally preparing for the worst again. I feel paranoid to say this but for every time someone congratulates me I can see a flicker of pity and worry cross their face, as though they've already written it off as another loss.

I look at my beautiful girls as they play rough-and-tumble across the couch and I wish I could ask them what made them so strong. How did they make it? Why were they so hardy? What's their secret?

Whatever it is, I am praying my bean has it too.

Strange Days and HPTs

The last few days have felt incredibly surreal. I am still waiting to wake up from this extraordinary dream.

On Wednesday I had what I could only describe as a really rubbish, rotten day. One thing after another went wrong, not least of which being the arrival of AF in the afternoon. I cursed under my breath as I wiped and found blood, and over the next couple of hours it became heavier, thick and red. I had put all thoughts of a BFP out of my head the week before. It had all felt too big and too dark to handle any longer. I was still disappointed when the witch showed up but I had expected her.

What I hadn't been expecting was that a few hours later she had almost disappeared again. The bleeding had trailed to some watery, orange spotting. I didn't know what was going on but the exact same thing happened last month; I had heavy bleeding then a day of spotting before the witch returned full-on. I thought that the same thing was going to happen again but - more out of habit than expecting to see a line - just before bedtime I got out a FRER and POAS. After all, I hadn't even had a chance to take an HPT before the witch arrived and I get really annoyed if I can't at least POAS once in a cycle.

I had no expectation of a line. I had no thoughts of seeing a positive result at all. But when I looked down I could see the faintest whisper of something, barely there at all. I had actually never seen a line so light. I thought maybe it was an indent line, but it didn't look like one. I was pretty sure I was seeing things but just to be sure I took out a cheapy and dipped it.

The line that came up was a little darker than the FRER. I started to shake and my heart began racing. No matter which way I turned the tests I could still see the line. I remember thinking to myself that maybe that's how you tell if there's truly a line or not - if you have to turn it every which way to see the line then it's probably not a BFP, but if you turn it every which way and you can still see it then maybe it's truly there.

I had one blue dye test left. Now, I am happy to call them my nemesis. I have waged war against them. But if it was going to give me a prettier line and more certainty that I was seeing a BFP then it would be worth it. So I dipped my Clearblue Easy and waited. I could see a cross start to appear very quickly, although bizarrely the result seemed to fade instead of get darker. Nevertheless, as the dye moved over the test a very faint line remained.



I was in a state of shock as I crawled into bed. I'd gone in the space of 12 hours from bemoaning the arrival of my period to seeing what looked like very faint lines on some tests. I couldn't believe it. In fact, I genuinely doubted my eyes. When the next morning came I took another FRER and got a line about the same as the one the night before. I was 9DPO now and the last FRER I saw at 9 DPO was much darker. Now my hopes were sinking again and I could feel another chemical pregnancy about to happen.

I spent the morning in a daze, torn between wanting to tell my husband so much and not wanting to tell him until I knew for sure that I wasn't just going to lose it again. I have seen too many lines fade away before they have a chance to get darker. Getting a BFP doesn't bring the same joy that it did before I knew what it was like to lose a pregnancy. There is joy, of course, but the fear is overwhelming.

I took another FRER in the early afternoon and the line was no different, no darker. I started to go crazy, and by now I was certain that there would be no good news ahead. I began to drive myself mad until in the end I wondered if the FRERs were bad and although it seemed unlikely I set off to the shops to buy my new test of choice: a Predictor. Now, Predictor seems to be a European test. It used to be far more widely available, now I can only find them in one shop. I bought one and set off straight to the toilets in the shopping centre. I'd only been holding for a couple of hours, which I realised too late as I was already watching the dye head across the test.

I have never felt such a swell of joy and love sweep through me to see the colour pink appear before my eyes. It was the most beautiful line I had ever seen.



I felt like I was on a high as I set off for home. Now I was starting to believe that this could be a sticky bean. A pale FRER started to get me worried again that night, as did the negative digi the next morning. In fact, getting a negative digi at 10DPO made me start to think that maybe this wasn't a sticky bean after all. I weas on the verge of tears most of the day.

But later on I took one more FRER and the line had made a bold leap. I couldn't believe how clear the line was now, and so I took my courage in both hands (well, maybe in one hand, I had an HPT in the other) and took a digi just before bed.

I finally got to see that word again.

Pregnant.

It was the most beautiful word in the English language.

What a difference a day makes

On Wednesday 'AF' arrived.

24 hours later I was looking at something very different.



EDD 14th December 2010

Apparently my body doesn't do implantation spotting, just implantation gushing.

I am in shock, overjoyed and very, very scared.